Matured Stories

love in the dark – Season 1 – Episode 18

Sorry Guyz for the late update. Due to popular demand. I have taken the decision to tell this story through the eyes of the two main characters. However, if you think otherwise (That the story should be told through the Author’s eyes instead. Please let me know) Thanks for believing in this story.

Tunji (POV)
I looked like Shtt in the mirror. I doubt Angie would love me like this. Its been five months after the accident. I’d faced the dread of isolaation for these months. No one visited. Not because they never wanted to, but because i never wanted anyone to visit. The horrors of the accident haunted me at night.
My wounds remained fresh. I cried at night, when the memories plunged me fiercely. In the morning, when i wake and look at the mirror, a monster stare back at me. For these months, Angie never visited me. At first i understood why, but now i don’t understand anymore. I saved her, i let the fire ravage me in her stead. I was deposited at the morgue because the paramedics thought i had died. But i survived. The weeks i was treated at the specialist hospital i suffered. I wanted to die but i never stop hoping that my love, Angie would survive the horror. What i became amazed me. I have never loved like these. All the women i have been with, was all about S£x. Angie is the only woman i love truly. And i will die again to have her in my arms. To hold her closely. Body to body. Feeling the softness of her skin. My lips pressed towards hers.
sU-Cking the moist from it.

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Dr. Zendall, an Indian specialist doctor resident in Lagos, had my face bandages removed two weeks ago. My face wounds healed finally. I stare deep into the mirror.

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I looked like Shtt. My once smooth face appeared rough. A slant line ran from my cheek bones to the my chin. I looked different. The American plastic surgeons that fixed my face, said i will look better when i recover.
Weeks into recovery, i look worst. I am not as charming as i use to. I can’t face Angie like these. But i missed her. Why didn’t she ever call? She survived it, so i heard.

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I picked my phone, i dialled her line. It ringed and stoped. It continued for a week. One day, a feminine scrawny voice rose from my phone speakers. “Hello, who’s on the line.” I hanged up. My voice seized.
Today, i showered. I wore my favourite suit. I wore scent. I wore powder on my face. I looked better. It was time i see Angie again. It was time, she knows i am not dead. Its depressing to think you would not be loved again by a loved one, it would be wrecking to actual know that your thoughts were right

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